Lost
by Let's Cry Over Sad Songs
Summary: "He feels empty, like there's nothing left inside him. He thinks how cruel the world is, how cruel Antonio is. For coming into his life and stealing his heart, and not returning it either. For the stupid world in making him friendless, loveless, and lifeless." shameless angsty fluff. Spamano. AU. ONESHOT. R&R.


**Lost: Spamano Fanfiction**

Errr. Yeah, first post. It's a really sucky-emo-tastic fanfiction i never finished. Wanna read it? Go ahead, down there.

**Poof. New ONESHOT. Done.**

**You should be proud. Am now working on quote-art for this fanfiction.**

**Title: Lost**

**Summary: Lovino is lost, and then found. Spamano. AU. R&R.**

**Rating: T.**

**Word count: 2483 words.**

The church in the town's square was peaceful, just after the Sunday reception, and it was long after everyone had filed out. There was only one person left, a boy who was near the front. His hands were clasped in front of him, his voice hushed just above a whisper.

"I'm done, mima. The game is over."

The doors of the church rattled, and Lovino head snapped backward towards the door. With his nerves on end, he made his way down the hall to the left. A blindspot from the church door.

"Feli?" Antonio's voice echoed in the chruch, pulling the seams of Lovino's fragile heart.

Lovino sighed and gripped the small hand gun in his pocket. Millions of thoughts raced in his mind, contradicting on what he was going to do.

His mother taught him to brave, and courageous, fearful of God. But losing her was so hard. _So hard._

He took the note, and laid it on the ground. He then grabbed the small hatchet in his back pack and slit a cut onto his palm. He winced as the crimson blood dripped onto the paper. With his other hand he dipped his finger in the blood and wrote.

"_I'm sorry,"_

He took a glance at Antonio, who had his head bowed and hands clasped together. His chocolate locks spread wildly on his head. His tanned fair skin, his warm smile. Lovino's heart gnawed on the inside, feeling with the Spanish man. He knew he would blame himself. But he hopes he doesn't hate him, oh he hopes.

He grabbed the gun and shot to the floor.

And ran.

…

"He's gone,"

Silence.

"Who-Where's Lovi? He was here with us at church…?"

"Yeah, where the fuck is the brat?"

"Why do you care?"

Then the first voice repeats:

"He's gone,"

…

Feliciano's eyes bulge as he grabs the note and gasps. Tears form in his eyes. And he can't see. He collapses and masculine arms wrap around him.

"Shhh, Feliciano, its okay, we'll get through this,"

"What's going on?"

"Ohmigosh! Like, Why is Feliciano crying?"

"Oh, don't cry Ita-chan. Yao is here, aru~"

"Mon amie, Toni. Are you alright? You look distant,"

"He feels guilty. The fucking brat was in love with him,"

Antonio snaps at the last comment, throwing himself at the Prussian man. Francis too shocked to move, to prevent it. But now grabs Antonio by the shoulders and pulls him back. To prevent any further damage.

…

"I didn't love him enough,"

…

Lovino went through his apartment, grabbing some things to remind him of what he's leaving behind. He grabbed the hand-woven basket Antonio gave to Feliciano on his birthday.

But over the years Lovino got used to it. Forgotten Birthday presents, unsigned birthday cards, hand-me-down Christmas gifts nobody wanted. He was always the second favorite, but the pain was still there. Etched into his hollow heart.

So usually Lovino never liked anyone, pushed people away into thinking he was spoiled and bratty. The only person who was ever different was Antonio.

He was kind-hearted, generous, and brave. He was truly a man of God; and when he first met Lovino he asked him if they could be friends.

At first, Lovino was convinced it was some sort of prank. A jerk who wanted to embarrass him, or something. But even so, he didn't know what it was like to have a real friend. Feliciano always had friends, and all he had to do was smile.

So when Antonio asked him, he said yes.

…

"_Hi! What's your name? Your Feli's brother, right?"_

_Lovino slowly nodded, he had never seen anyone with such a beautiful smile, before. He was truly amazed._

"_You look just like him! What's your name? I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. It's nice to meet you."_

_In the first time forever he wanted to be nice, he wanted to smile like that; he wanted to have a friend._

"_Lovino Vargas,"_

"_Mucho Gusto! You have a nice name, would you like to be my friend, Lovi?"_

_A light blush blossomed on his cheeks, at the nickname. But happiness rushed through his veins, making his face break out in a goofy grin. Then quickly covered it up with a small smile._

"_My name is Lovino, not Lovi. And I would like to be your f-friend."_

…

He takes some pictures, of his mother, father, and his brother. But mostly of Antonio. He has the urge to throw them away; his passion for photography was a secret, except from Antonio, of course. He always told Antonio his secrets;

…

"_Secrets are better shared, by children of God."_

…

He grabs some money for his trip, and he feels suddenly another stab of loneliness. He breaks down into sobs, and wonders _Why?_

The sobs continue, pulsing through his body. Making him weak. He wishes it wasn't him, but then wishes against that. No one deserves this, this loneliness. No one.

He feels empty, like there's nothing left inside him. He thinks how cruel the world is, how cruel Antonio is. For coming into his life and stealing his heart, and not returning it either. For the stupid world in making him friendless, loveless, and lifeless.

With a sniffle, he summons his courage once again. He stands up on his two feet, grabs a snack (diced tomatoes with mozzarella and avocado) and slides the Tupperware into his bag. He brews some coffee; black. He grabs his Mac, closes it shut, and dumps that, too in the backpack. Pulls off his shirt, and grabs a skinny Tee, and pulls a zip-up sweater on top. He leaves his jeans on, and grabs his favorite pair of sweats, and skinny jeans and shoves them into the bag. He looks back in his shirt drawer and considers pulling out another shirt or two. But then decides on his Italian jersey instead and tosses that in the bag as well. With a pair of blue converse, he heads out the door.

…

"Lovino Vargas, has been missing for 48 hours. We are making a statement to the press today. Stating that we have found a questionable suicide note. Though we have not found the body, if it rules to a missing person's case, instead of a runaway/suicide then we will intervene."

…

Antonio had been standing inside Lovino's apartment for hours. He could practically see him, standing there, cooking for him, or running around huffing about something stupid, or blushing red, or just being Lovino. And now, it felt like there was nothing, just a ghost shell of the life it once had. When Antonio would stop by sometimes, he would be able to tell what Lovino was cooking on his crappy electric stove, outside the far side of apartment complex parking lot.

And when he'd come into the living room, Lovino's desk would be covered in recently developed photos, waiting to photoshoped into perfection.

He remembers the part of the note addressed to him, and the memorized words ring loudly in his skull.

…

_There's a part of me that doesn't know who I am anymore. Mama's waiting. But waiting doesn't cut it, does it?_

_I love you, more than I should. It's this ugly set back that I hate. It makes me hate my self. It makes me hate loving you. But I could never hate you. Ever._

_I can't let my ugly heart taint yours. So fall in love with some pretty girl, with kind eyes like yours. And forget about me._

_But I have one request: because you stole my heart, you blasted priest, clean it for me, will you? I want god to forgive me for my sins._

…

He wants to find him. To hold him, to kiss all the fears away. But deep down, he's afraid, too. We're all afraid.

…

Years later.

There was a boy in the distance. Standing there, watching the waves of the magnificent Atlantic. He had willed himself to forget his painful past, but at times like these he couldn't help but uncover and dust off the old scrapbook to find memories. And remember.

Then he was a lost boy, now he was a successful chef for his own small restaurant. (Italian of course) He was living in his apartment, with a small pixy girlfriend named Daisy. Who he liked, don't get him wrong. But it wasn't the same.

Lovino sighed, he was tired from a long day at work, and all he wanted to do was cuddle under a large amount of blanket and sleep forever.

Though he was going home tonight, little did he know. Tonight he was going to be found.

…

"Toni! Come on, there's a restaurant around the corner. Auntie Sasha says it's the best place in town!"

Huffing he stopped to smell the scent of the food.

"Italian?"

His girlfriend's eyes widen, "how… Did you know?" and she grasps his hand, and waits for him to speak.

"I…" He rubs the back of his neck nervously, not wanting to remember. "I knew someone who used to make the best Italian food, I would be able to smell it from the parking lot of his apartment."

She smiles warmly at him, and continues to drag him the rest of the way to the restaurant.

…

"I need some _Mozzarella _for this salad_, where is it?_"

"Just bought it, it's in the cooler 2."

"_Well then,_ go get it! Why do you think I asked!?"

"Y-yes sir!"

"Mr. Vargas, we have some customers that want to see you, they talk of catering." The waitress twirled her finger around her fiery red hair. Lovino wasn't in the right mind set to try to remember her name. He muttered his thanks and turned back into the stuffy kitchen.

"Keep moving, people! I'm going to go greet some customers. Everyone will get paid overtime for this job tonight. _Tino! Make sure you don't burn the paella._"

"Y-yes sir!"

Lovino sighed as he ducked under the curtain and into the low-lighted restaurant. It had taken him 6 years to get him where he was, he was the youngest restaurant owner in all New York.

He loved competition, and in New York City that's all there was. He loved getting all the great reviews and awards for best tasting cuisine. He loved the attention, so he worked hard, for his restaurant, for his co-workers, for himself. And it payed off, he had money, fame, and friends.

But did he have happiness?

He rubbed his face, hoping it would rub the fatigue away. Then plastered a fake smile and remembered: _be familiar, not friendly._

There was a girl waving her arms at him, signaling him to come. He threw a incredulous look, and tried to remember the familiar face. But it wasn't her face he remembered, it was the man next to him.

_Shit, it's him. _His thoughts raced, bouncing against the walls of his skull, giving him a killer headache.

Then he came to the stupid and thoughtless conclusion that his mind was playing games with him, and he just going to ignore him.

"Are you the owner of this restaurant?" the girl, who obviously was his girlfriend, looked up at him with big eyes.

With a curt nod, he summoned his courage to speak, "Yes, and I am the head chef as well. Is there anything I can do for you?"

The moment he spoke Antonio's head snapped up to looked at him more closely. He watched as his eyes widen in realization. He gulped, hoping he wouldn't notice, he would just leave it alone, ignore it.

"My auntie Sasha, says you cater, right? So I was wondering, if you could cater for my wedding,"

_He's getting married._

"You see, my fiancé and I, want an Italian wedding. And since this is the best Italian place around…" she trailed off looking off at Antonio.

Before she could comment on Antonio's pale face, Lovino cuts in. "We do have a limit on how many we cater at one time, and we do not deliver, we make the food right then and there. There are certain foods from our menu that cannot be cooked outside, or in a non-controlled environment. And price ranges. If you can make to these accommodations you should call me," he slid business card onto the table. "Anything else?"

The girl looks no younger than he, maybe 25 give or take. She peers at the business card, looking for a name.

"_Lovino Vargas,_"

He nods, and makes his way to leave.

"Mr. Vargas?"

He freezes, when he hears the other voice. _His voice. _But he turns around.

"The food was delicious, thank you,"

Old habits seem to die hard, because blood rushes to his face, and a beautiful blush rushed to his fair cheeks.

"T-Thank my chefs," Lies. The plate that stared back at him, mocking him. He had made the same dish for Antonio years, and all he one in front of him now, too. He could hear the sadness in his beloved voice. His agony. That thought itself made Lovino's insides churn up storms.

…

The day finished painfully slow. He thanked lucky stars that the couple (Antonio and his fiancé) had argued after he left. His soon to be wife stormed out angry with tears, for everyone to see. She was clearly in love with him, Lovino understood the feeling of rejection. So he felt for her. His heart sought out to hers, because he saw himself in her.

Antonio looked the same as he did, as he last saw him. His body, stronger, leaner maybe. Yet his eyes looked a thousand years old. Lovino wondered if he looked close enough, he could hear the old clock strumming in Antonio's heart.

Lovino started his walk home, closing and locking the doors of his restaurant_The Italian Tomatoe_. His mind betraying him, and wandering back to his Spanish prince. He stuffed his hands into his pockets to protect them from the frigid air of the fall weather.

_Antonio, _His mind sought out, _Why the hell did you come out here? I'm so lost now, so much more lost than before._

…

And he was found.

…

"_Lovino_," A hushed whisper, a call for love, everything he ever needed to hear in that one word that he has always come to hate.

He jerked back, turned back so fast it made him wince. Taking him fully now, open arms, brunette, green crystal eyes, lean muscle.

"_Venire_,"

And he did.

He ran into his arms, stumbled into his place, and he really was found.

…

…

…

Venire: means "come". Get your minds out of the gutter.


End file.
